


Fine I'll hold my breath / til i forget it's complicated

by Teatrolley



Series: astronomy in reverse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, OR IS IT, Oops, and a lot of unresolved emotions, and they love each other, because these two dudes are idiots, but we love them, its complicated though, there's a lot of shagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:31:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5543423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teatrolley/pseuds/Teatrolley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco become friends with benefits, and Harry thinks it's more complicated than it actually is</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tell me I'm allowed

**Author's Note:**

> This is rather self-indulgent, really
> 
> Title is from Andrew Belle's Details

Draco starts ‘hanging out’ at Harry’s flat.

Well, it is technically also Hermione’s flat – and Ron’s, when he isn’t visiting home to help George with the shop – and Draco is really “hanging out” while visiting Hermione. They work together now. 

Still. Draco spends rather a lot of time inside the apartment where Harry spends most of his hours, which means that Harry finds himself to be in closer proximity to him than he’s probably ever been before. 

It’s bloody infuriating. Not even because Draco is being rude to him; he isn’t. Which is a source of great distress to Harry, because Draco bloody Malfoy is being _nice_ to him.

“Harry,” Hermione warns him. It hardly matters when, because it becomes a fairly regular occurrence after Draco starts coming by. “You’re being obsessive. He’s just a dude.”

“He’s _Malfoy_ ,” Harry argues. He whispers because, as so often happens, Draco is over and is somewhere in the flat. Hermione has cornered Harry in the kitchen, because apparently he was being short earlier, when Draco said hello to him.

“People can change,” she says. “He’s been a great help in protesting against–“

“The elitism of his parents’ and the Families’ ways, yes, I know,” Harry interrupts her. They’ve had this conversation before. 

“Stop being an idiot then.” 

Harry grimaces at her in reply, but she just smiles; She knows him too well. She squeezes his shoulder and kisses the side of his face, just as Draco enters the room. Harry tries to keep from scowling or, worse, smiling at him. 

Draco leans languidly against the end of the kitchen counter to look at them. His chin is in his hand, his arm resting on his elbow. As always, when he’s around, Harry feels the energy of infuriation thrumming inside of his veins, making him want to do something; preferably something that will cause Draco mild distress. 

“Are you ready?” Draco asks. It’s directed at Hermione. She nods, and removes herself from Harry’s side. 

“Yep.”

“We’re watching The Grinch,” Draco says, this time to Harry himself. 

“It’s July.” 

Draco stands up and, weirdly, smiles. Harry crosses his arms in front of his chest. He is aware that he is acting like a petulant child; doesn’t mean he won’t continue to do it.

“Should I take that to mean that you don’t want to join?” Draco asks. Hermione is standing by him, reaching out for his arm, as if ready to steer him away. 

“No,” Harry says. Then, watching the back of Hermione’s head and keeping her exasperation with him in mind, he adds: “Thank you.”

Draco shrugs. “Alright then.” He lets himself be guided away. 

Harry stands to watch them until the door to Hermione’s room closes behind them. Then he exhales the breath he’s been holding. What is happening to his life?

__

If Harry is completely honest with himself, which he rarely is, then he’ll have to admit that one of the reasons he finds being around Draco this much as infuriating as he does is that Draco is, well– rather attractive. 

He holds himself like he knows it, too. He saunters into rooms with a swagger on, and leans against counters and other furniture with languid movements, and every time Harry wants to do something between hitting him in the face and bruising his neck with kisses. 

It isn’t news to him that he’s at least some form of queer, so that isn’t the problem. The problem is that he’s Mafloy. He’s Harry’s arch nemesis; he’s supposed to be, at least. He’s certainly not supposed to be able to rile Harry up this much just by sending him a look and a smirk.

Harry masturbates a lot. And then he hides his face under his blankets, and tries to forget everything.  
__

About a week later he’s lying sprawled out on his bed, listening to music and spelling doodles in the air above him, when someone knocks on his door. It’s Draco who opens it, when Harry calls out an affirmative. Harry sits up.

“Oh,” he says. “Hey.” 

Draco looks amused. His eyes watch the doodles still present above Harry’s head. Harry refuses to spell them away and succumb.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Draco says. Harry wonders if he even has a flat of his own. Maybe he just stays here and with Pansy?

“Good for you,” he says. He sees Draco’s tongue pressing to the back of his upper-mouth teeth. Maybe it’s an attempt not to smile. 

“Just wanted to hear if you need the bathroom?”

“I don’t,” Harry says. Draco lingers after he says it, and it’s awkward. Harry doesn’t know why he’s this incapable of having a normal conversation with the man. 

“Good,” Draco says then, and he leaves. Harry sighs and lies back down. 

__

He goes to make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. He can hear the shower running, so Draco must still be in there. He doesn’t know about Hermione, but he’s sure she’s here somewhere. 

The water boiling turns loud, which is probably why he doesn’t hear or otherwise register when the shower stops running, or when the bathroom door opens, or when Draco’s footsteps get closer, until they stop, right by the entrance to the kitchen. 

When Harry turns around, he nearly squeals in shock. He does jump. Draco looks like he’s trying hard not to chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he says. Harry just tries not to blush, because Draco is naked except for the towel around his hips, and his skin is flushed pink from the shower. Attraction surges in Harry’s chest; he _wants_ , which he really rather shouldn’t. 

“Hm,” he says. He turns back around and resolutely doesn’t say anything as he pours water over his teabag. He watches the liquid turn brown. This time he does hear when Draco comes closer. 

“Can I have one as well?” he asks. He’s really very close; Harry can feel the warmth of his skin, oh so near. He turns his head and watches a drop of water run from the tips of Draco’s wet hair and down his neck, before it is caught by his collarbone. Harry’s fingers tingle with the desire to touch. When he looks up, Draco is watching him intensely. His resolve breaks.

Harry kisses him. 

He kisses him, and kisses him, and holds on to his cheeks with his hands, and licks into his mouth, and kisses him. His mouth is warm too, and he tastes like toothpaste. When Draco opens his mouth, Harry backs him up against the counter and pushes their bodies together. 

A door opens somewhere in the flat; Harry registers the sound, registers that the only one it could be is Hermione, registers that she’s probably looking for either or both of them, and registers that he doesn’t want her to see this, all within a second. He pulls back. 

And just in time, because just as he’s taken a step to the side and has grabbed his teacup, Hermione enters the room. “There you are,” she says. 

Draco clears his throat awkwardly, but his voice is still hoarse when he says, “Here I am.” 

“Tea?” Harry asks, to distract her, and pushes his cup into her hands. “Draco was just making some.” 

He resolutely doesn’t look at said man, but says, “Anyway, I’m off,” and hurries to his room. It feels like he doesn’t breathe until he closes the door behind him and is alone once again. He hits his head against the doorframe twice; he wants to hide. 

__

Two hours pass before he sees Draco again. This time Draco doesn’t knock, but simply walks in and closes Harry’s door softly behind him. 

He leans against said door, and is breathing rather heavily when he meets Harry’s eye. Harry is lying on his bed. Draco’s expression is ever-changing; he’s questioning, then demanding of an answer. Harry smiles, and it must mean something to Draco, because his expression turns questioning again, but this time what is says is more like ‘Are you going to do it again?”

Harry does. 

Apparently this wordless conversation is all they need, so he gets up from the bed; slowly enough to watch Draco’s expression for sign of a change of heart. He sees none. Rather, he sees Draco’s eyes falling to his lips, and Draco’s neck moving around his swallow. 

Draco is in a tee and pants, Harry notes. The tee is loose over his body, but the outline of his defined, skinny chest is still visible beneath it. His hair is slightly curly, too; this is not a new discovery – He has been around a lot – but it’s still one that Harry hasn’t quite gotten over yet. 

He realises that he’s staring. Draco must too, because when he watches Harry, his eyes widen slightly in the tell-tale of surprise. Harry bites his lip in an effort not to smirk. God, how he wants this.

He walks up to Draco, so their bodies are aligned, but stops there. Draco’s breath gets shakier; Harry wants to smile again. Instead he casts a muffling spell on the door against Draco’s back. Draco doesn’t comment, but raises his brow. 

“This might be a bad idea,” Harry tells him. It’s more an attempt at ‘full disclosure’ than it is an attempt to discourage him from the idea. Draco shrugs. 

“Perhaps not entirely,” he says. His voice is lower than normal and hoarse. Harry leans in, but kisses his jaw instead of his lips. Draco inhales a quick breath that is very nearly a gasp. Then he makes a movement that is almost a shimmer, or like the kind of move a cat makes when it is pleased. It makes Harry want to take him apart.

“Are you going to do anything about it?” Draco asks. He lifts his head to give Harry access, when Harry tries to kiss his neck. Draco likes this, Harry realises. A lot. Still, he says,

“Tell me I’m allowed.” He waits by Draco’s neck until he replies:

“You’re allowed.”

Harry kisses him. This time it starts rather less urgently, although the deepness of the hunger for it is still there within Harry. Harry is simply testing out the waters, catching Draco’s top lip between his own and sucking on it, before Draco parts his lips for him. When Harry cups his face and presses their bodies closer together, Draco hums in what, presumably, is content. 

It’s casual and nice, but then Harry bites Draco’s bottom lip and Draco tugs at Harry’s hair where his hands are buried, and the mood changes instantly. Draco tugs Harry closer, so Harry retaliates by using his knee to push Draco’s legs apart and insert his thigh there, before he thrust it against Draco’s groin. Draco gasps and groans, so Harry does it again. 

“Is more than making out okay too?” he asks. Draco kisses him deeply for a few moments, before he replies by jumping up Harry’s body, so Harry has to catch him, and snaking his legs around Harry’s hips. 

“Hm,” he hums; It’s affirmative. 

Harry carries him to the bed, where he puts him down on his back, and crawls over him to kiss him again. Draco pulls Harry’s shirt off and puts his hands to Harry’s back, so Harry pushes his shirt off as well. Later, their pants go as well.

Draco is sensitive. Harry kisses down his neck and over his chest, and Draco’s hands fist so hard in his hair that Harry worries if he should cast a spell to make it stay on his head. When Harry kisses Draco’s stomach he groans loudly as his whole body twitches, so Harry does it again and continues until Draco pulls him back up to his mouth. 

“Lube?” he asks. He keeps kissing the side of Harry’s face, when Harry leans over him to grab it from the bedside table.

“I thought you hated me,” he says, when Harry’s attention is back on him. Harry opens the bottle and pours some of the liquid out on his fingers before he answers. 

“Not hate. I just find your constant presence a bit annoying.” He nudges Draco’s legs apart a bit; Draco bends them at the knee like it’s second nature. Maybe it is; maybe he does this a lot. 

“And your solution is to shag me?” Draco says. Harry circles him with the first finger, and starts pushing inside. Draco’s mildly peeved expression crumbles and falls away; instead he looks a mix between pleasured and pained. He bites his lip.

“Alright?” Harry asks. 

Draco nods. “Yeah.”

Harry leans up to kiss him as he wriggles the finger around, coaxing Draco more and more open with it. 

“At least this way I get something out of you hanging around here,” he says. 

“Orgasms?” Draco still has that distant, superior tone to it, so Harry adds the second finger and watches him gasp with satisfaction. 

“Yeah,” he says. He bends his fingers at the knuckles, hitting Draco’s prostate; Draco’s expression get soft with the pleasure. “Orgasms.” _And getting to see you like this, all desperate and taken apart._

As he adds the third finger, Harry stays by Draco’s face, but doesn’t kiss him, so instead Draco alternates between kissing Harry’s neck and exhaling breathy moans against it, until Harry is sure it’ll be bruised tomorrow.

When he leans up to grab the condom, Draco’s breath is so low and sated, Harry is momentarily worried he might be about to fall asleep. His expression, when Harry comes back to him, is unfocused. 

“You alright?” Harry asks, to draw him back into the real world. Draco focuses on him and nods. As if in proof, he grabs the condom from Harry and rolls it onto him, before coating him in lube.

They try with Harry on top, but Harry has never been able to read Draco’s expression very well, and now is no different, so he can’t distinguish between when Draco’s frown is in pleasure or in pain. They switch places. This turns out to be a good idea, because the way Draco looks when he sinks himself down on Harry, and gets the purest look of pleasure on his face, could be enough to make Harry black out. He moans instead, and is very happy for the muffle-spell he cast before. 

He puts his hand up to Draco’s chest beneath his nipple, to support him. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Draco says. He starts moving. “Just stop asking.”

Draco in pleasure is a Draco whose chest flushes pink and whose movements become languid and sultry. He becomes pliant and content too; when he isn’t moaning, he smiles softly and pushes himself into Harry’s hands, so they are never empty. He’s loud, too. Harry gets increasingly happier that muffle-spells are even a thing. 

Afterwards Draco stays and kisses him for five minutes, but then he extracts himself from Harry’s body. He starts gathering his things, but he does it without hurry, so Harry is confident that he’s not in the middle of regretting what just happened. 

“You know, you’re rather good at that,” Harry tells him. Mostly he does it to test out the mood, so when Draco reacts by kissing Harry’s temple, Harry is pleased. 

“I know,” Draco says. 

Harry throws a pillow at his head; Draco chuckles. Before he leaves, he stands in the open door, on the threshold between this new territory, and the one they’ve shared up until now, and smiles with content. 

“Goodnight,” he says then. Harry throws another pillow after him and the door, for him to close it, but he’s beaming, too. 

__

Harry wakes the next morning after both Hermione and Draco have gone to work, but he still wears a turtleneck to cover up his love-bites. He tries not to think too much. 

The next time Draco comes over and plans to stays the night, they meet in the kitchen again; this time Harry is making three cups of tea and getting a piece of leftover pizza for himself. When Draco enters, he steals the pizza from the plate and takes a bite. Harry slaps him over the head.

“You can’t do that just because we’re shagging,” he says. 

Draco chews the bite and leans against the counter nonchalantly. “Just because we shagged,” he corrects Harry. 

Harry smiles and still finds him attractive. He puts his hand to Draco’s stomach and uses it to push him flush up against the counter. Draco smirks. He’s still smirking when Harry dives in to press his lips to the place on Draco’s neck where he is most sensitive, until he hears Draco gasping for breath. 

“Just because we’re shagging,” he repeats himself as he pulls back. 

Draco snort and hits him over the head, but that night, when Hermione is asleep, he comes back into Harry’s room and pushes himself into Harry’s hands again.


	2. You're here

It becomes a regular occurrence. It almost always happens at night, and Draco still only stays over when Hermione asks him to, but whenever those two criteria are fulfilled, Draco will crawl into Harry’s bed after Hermione falls asleep, and Harry will kiss him until they are both breathless. 

They instantly and wordlessly agree not to let Hermione know. That doesn’t mean they’re entirely able to hide the change in their relationship, though. Just Harry’s lack of sulking, when Draco is around, is enough to put Hermione on some sort of track. 

She walks in on them one night, giggling in the kitchen over a silly joke Harry told, and narrows her eyes with suspicion. She comes up with an excuse to have Harry alone with her in the kitchen.

“You certainly changed your mind quickly, didn’t you?” she says. 

“I’m being nice,” Harry says. “I’m a great human, yeah? A nice human?” 

She rolls her eyes at him, but smiles, so Harry joins the two of them in the living room as they watch a movie. When tired starts to sneak up on him he rests his head in Hermione’s lap, but the contact between his feet and Draco’s thighs that they are pressed against feels impossibly more intimate. 

__

Life is complicated, for Harry. Has been ever since the war, in a way entirely different than it was before. Before there were choices, but he always knew that he was supposed to make the ones that would help him win the war. Now all he has to go by is What He Wants, which is altogether a rather unhelpful guideline. He tried going back for eight year and he tried auror training, but it didn’t work out. So, for now, he does nothing.

Sometimes he lies not on his bed, but on his floor, and thinks things he probably shouldn’t be thinking: About how life with Voldemort was strangely easier because he had a goal. About how, when you think about it, his closest relationship ever has been with Voldemort himself; albeit it was not one of love, but hatred, they were still so closely linked. 

In some ways, shagging Draco is a distraction. In other ways, which he only thinks about when he is experiencing a bout of insomnia and has been up for over 40 hours, shagging Draco might just be another added complication. 

For now, though, he lets Draco crawl into his bed and into his hands regularly, and tries to ignore the nagging feeling of doubt.

__

The insomnia comes without much care for what else is going on in Harry’s life, so it isn’t much of a surprise when it does. Nor is it anything particularly notice-worthy anymore. Mostly it’s annoying.

Harry feels it already in the evening of that Wednesday; feels that sleep will be out of his reach for some time. He doesn’t do much about it. He considers telling Hermione, but he knows she’d just decide to stay up with him, and she needs the rest to be able to do her job tomorrow. So, in the end, he just stays up with his headphones and his music. 

It’s 1 AM when he goes to make himself a snack in the kitchen, and realises that he isn’t alone; The kitchen opens into the living room, where, over the kitchen counter, Harry can see someone lying on the couch.

Well. Not someone. He drops the snack for now, and goes up to stand at the edge of it. Draco is awake, too.

“You’re here,” Harry observes. He must have gotten here after eleven, when Harry shut himself inside of his room. Draco is lying on a pillow, under their spare duvet. He strains his neck a little to look up and catch Harry’s eye.

“I’m here,” he agrees. “My roommate threw me out.”

“Why?”

Draco shrugs. “She needed the whole place to court her potential girlfriend?”

“Hm.” Harry tugs at Draco’s hair, where it is splayed out on the pillow. It doesn’t mean anything other than contact. Draco smiles softly up at him. 

“Are you going to invite me into your room?” he asks. Harry buries his hand in Draco’s hair, so the spaces between his fingers are filled with it, and sits on the armrest beside his head. 

“Nah,” he says. “I’m not really in the mood. Just can’t sleep.”

Draco turns to his side so Harry can better access his hair; He reminds Harry somewhat of a cat requesting petting. “Me neither,” he says. 

The mood between them is calm. Draco reaches out with a finger and touches Harry’s lower leg, where it is hanging down from the armrest. Harry touches his hair. They just breathe together, in the moonlight shining in from the window. Outside the night is starry. 

“Are you hungry?” Harry asks then.

There's a pause, maybe of consideration, before the reply.

“I could eat.”

 

They end up in the kitchen, making a home-made pizza. Well, home-made is perhaps a bit too generous; neither the dough, the sauce or the toppings are homemade, but they do put it together themselves. 

Draco eats the pepperoni raw and laughs softly when Harry tells him he’s disgusting. There’s very little room between them, and when Harry stands behind Draco and watches him do most of the work, his hand is resting gently on the space between Draco’s shoulder-blades. 

While the pizza is in the oven, Harry leans his hands against the counter on either side of Draco’s body, so he is caught within the circle of Harry’s arms. He doesn’t do anything else; he simply rests his forehead to Draco’s shoulder, closes his eyes, and breathes. It’s the past-midnight time and the moonlight allowing it. 

When the food is done, they sit on the carpet of the living-room floor in front of the window, so they can look at the London rooftops as they eat.

 

It’s Draco who suggests the bath. He says warm water sometimes helps him to achieve sleep, so Harry nods, and they go to turn on the tab.

Getting naked like this, when it isn’t about to lead to sex, is surprisingly natural. Harry supposes it is just a body, but he still didn’t except the lack of care that both of them display about the situation; not even from himself. 

They sit at either end of the bathtub; Draco’s shins are by Harry’s chest, so Harry puts his hands to them. Bubbles that smell of lavender are decorating the water's surface. Draco dips his head under to get his hair wet, and gets some foam in it too. It makes Harry want to kiss him. 

“Do you often not sleep?” he asks instead. His voice is soft to match the gentleness of the atmosphere. Draco scuttles further down, so he has the water up to his neck. Harry squeezes his leg.

“Sometimes,” Draco says. “Nightmares are more of a problem.”

“Hm,” Harry hums. He tugs at the hairs on Draco’s leg in thought, so Draco pushes his foot into Harry’s side. 

“You?” he asks. 

“I have nightmares, too,” Harry says. “Insomnia is worse. Sometimes a dream sets it off, though.” Draco’s expression is contemplative as he watches Harry. 

“What do you dream about when that happens?” he asks. Harry inhales shakily. He hasn’t talked much about this sort of thing; it’s good, but it also triggers the feeling of melancholy and guilt inside of him that is awakened during the worst of those nights. 

“I dream that I can’t save people,” he says. “I stay awake thinking of all of the people who died–“

“Are you about to say ‘because of me’?” Draco asks. Harry shrugs, then nods. He expects Draco to get some degree of angry or distressed, because it feels like that’s the emotion he’s always met with when he voices these things, but he doesn’t. He just hums and touches Harry’s leg. 

“You probably saved more people than died,” he says. He doesn’t sound like that means Harry should stop being upset about those who did die though. It’s a surprise and a relief.

“I dream that I kill,” Draco says, then. “Sometimes I dream that I’m conflicted about it, but watch myself do it anyway, sometimes that I like it. I’m not sure which is worse.” 

Harry can see why those would be Draco’s nightmares, but at the same time he’s pretty certain that Draco can’t actually kill. He watched his face that night, with Dumbledore, and the conflict of emotions on his face told Harry everything he needs to know. 

“Do you ever dream about killing me?” he asks instead of saying any of this. Draco sits up a bit again, so his shoulders are out of the water.

“Yeah,” he says. “But those are more sweet dreams than nightmares.” 

It’s a joke, and Harry laughs so loudly he’s nervous he might have woken Hermione. When he does, Draco smiles with his tongue slightly out, pressed against his teeth; Harry has noticed that he does that sometimes, when his grin is big enough. He pushes his foot against Draco’s jaw in revenge, until Draco chuckles as well. 

“Fuck you,” Harry says. Draco laughs again, and grabs onto Harry’s ankle to pull him down towards him. The water sloshes over the sides, but Harry doesn’t care, because then Draco kisses him. 

They stay there for a while, just pressing their lips together, until the water turns cold and they let it out and take a shower instead, washing their hair. 

 

When they get out, Harry lends Draco some pants and a shirt, and goes to get a bottle of red wine. He pulls Draco into his bed, but for now it’s not for shagging, but simply for co-existing. He pours the wine into Draco’s and his own glasses, and puts his fingers to Draco’s ankle on the mattress. 

“Are you tired?” Draco asks. Harry shakes his head no. 

“Are you?” 

Draco shrugs, but he doesn’t attempt to say goodnight, so Harry keeps holding his ankle. He draws a pattern on it with his forefinger. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asks. His knees are drawn up in front of his body, so he rests his cheek on one of them, watching Draco. Draco nods.

“How have your parents reacted? To, like, you working in the ministry?” 

Draco sighs, but doesn’t look like he’ll dislike answering. 

“My dad is angry,” he says. He pulls a bit on some loose string he finds at the end of Harry’s duvet covers. “My mom is more alright with it, but she can’t do much to convince my dad. And he’s still the patriarch, so if he decides to disown me she can’t do much about it.”

“Would he really do that?” Harry asks. Draco shrugs.

“I’m not sure I care,” he says. “All of my worst decisions were made because of what he told me I should do.” At this, Draco looks up, and his expression is regretful; maybe it’s for his past. Harry doesn’t know. 

He squeezes Draco’s leg again, and with it tries to articulate something like forgiveness. Draco smiles softly and looks at his own lap, so Harry thinks maybe he understands. 

“And you’re queer, too,” he says. Draco snorts and looks up.

“I know. What a disappointment.” 

Harry smiles. He sips his wine, and feels the very slight pleasant buzz it gives him spreading through his body and down to his toes. It’s a comfortable one; Wine makes him pliant, he knows. 

He lies down on his back, and spells doodles in the air above him. For a while all the contact between them is their lower legs touching; Harry can’t even see Draco’s face. But then Draco’s leg disappears, before the entirety of him appears next to Harry, their bodies aligned. 

Draco watches the doodles above them, so Harry draws a cock to make him laugh. He does. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks then. 

“Clearly, I am thinking about dick,” Harry says. Draco chuckles once, but otherwise stays silent; simply waiting for Harry to start speaking on his own. He’s resting his head in his palm, his arm resting on its elbow on Harry’s pillow, watching Harry. It’s surprisingly effective.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Harry says, more to the ceiling than Draco. 

“In regards to cocks?” 

Harry chuckles, but gives Draco’s arm a push so his arm bends in on itself and his head falls. Draco kicks his shin. It’s all right.

“In regards to everything,” Harry says. Draco’s grin falls off, but is taken over by an earnest expression, as he studies Harry. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

At this, Draco smiles. He throws his leg over Harry’s, and positions himself astride his lap, holding his head inches over Harry’s. “I know what you’re supposed to be doing,” he says.

“What?” Harry is smiling. If he leaned up a bit, he’d be kissing Draco. He considers it, but decides to let Draco come to him first. 

“Me,” Draco says, and then he kisses Harry’s neck instead of his lips, because Harry is too busy chuckling.

__

Draco falls asleep after sex, and Harry lets him. Eventually he falls asleep, too.

When he wakes up he’s alone. He registers that it’s Sunday, and watches the unnecessarily empty spot besides him, sighing. He doesn’t know if it’s telling him a story of regret, or just one of other responsibilities. Either way, he doesn’t listen.

Instead he packs up his duvet in his arms, and lists into Hermione’s room with it. She’s still in bed, but must be waking up, because when Harry lies down next to her and snuggles up close, she hums. 

“You okay?” she asks. “Bad dream tonight?”

Harry turns his back to her, so she curls herself against it and puts her arm around him. He holds it. He praises the lords for her and Ron’s tendency to be physically affectionate with their friends daily, because he’s never had this sort of platonic touch before, and it makes him feel safe.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Bit of insomnia, but it went away again.”

She hums again, and gives his chest a pat with her hand. “Sorry,” she says. Harry squeezes her hand instead of replying. 

“I’m shagging Draco,” he says. He doesn’t know why, but he feels this is a good time to tell her. Maybe he just needs to discuss Draco with someone. 

“Yeah,” Hermione says, to his surprise. “I know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard?” Harry asks, suddenly imagining that scenario with horror. To his relief she replies with a negative.

“I’m not blind, though,” she says. Harry grimaces.

“Shit,” he says. “Are we that obvious.” 

She hums again, this time in the affirmative. He pushes into the pillow and considers the implications of that; are there even any? Perhaps the fact that Harry’s behaviour has apparently changed after beginning to shag Draco is an implication bad enough. Hermione seems not to care, though, because her breath gets heavy against Harry’s neck. 

Then she sniffs. “Why do you smell of lavender, though?” she asks. 

Harry chuckles, and decides that whatever may come at him will be okay, as long as she’s still there.


	3. With benefits

Harry wakes to the sound of Hermione squealing. For a brief moment he reaches for his wand, but then the nuance of her sound gets to him, and he understands that she’s happy. 

As soon as he looks at the bedroom door, now open, he understands why. Leaning against the doorframe there is Ron. Harry barely has time to see him, before he is hidden behind Hermione’s body and all of her hair as she jumps into his arms. 

For a moment everything else is forgotten, and all that exists in the world is his ability to give Ron a huge hug, and then, later, have both of his best friends’ arms’ around him as they all hold each other tight.

“What a welcoming,” Ron says, sounding overwhelmed. They all laugh, and it’s somewhere between glee and relief. 

 

Harry isn’t sure how much time passes where all they do is hug each other and smile, but after a good deal of it they manage to make some tea and all get back into bed where he and Hermione demand that Ron “Tell them everything!”

He does. Mom is better, he says, and is beginning to have creative energy again. George is, too. He and Angelina are still going strong, which is certainly helpful. 

“I miss you,” Hermione says to him. Harry isn’t blind; He knows how much Hermione’s love means to Ron, and knows how much of a struggle he’s had with accepting that it’s truly his before, so he knows there are no lies at all about the size and earnestness of the smile he sends her. 

“I miss you, too,” Harry tells him, and Ron laughs. 

“Hm,” he says. He puts his arm around Hermione as she cuddles into him and kisses his cheek. “You’re certainly busy, though”. 

Judging by the way he wriggles his eyebrows, there’s no mistaking what he’s referring to. Harry sighs and sends Hermione a look. She just grins mischievously at him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, a little reluctantly. 

“He just told me today,” Hermione says. 

“What’s up with that?” Ron asks. “I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised–“

Harry hits him over the head before he can say anything else, and Ron grins. “I don’t know,” he complains. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re having sex with Draco,” Ron tells him. Harry hits him again, and this time Ron sniggers. Hermione laughs out loud. 

“You like him,” she says then, as she shrugs. Harry groans.

“Is that a good thing? Can you imagine if that’s the only decision I manage to make? Yeah hey, entire world watching me, I don’t know shit about what I want, but I’m sort of into this Draco guy who I used to hate, are you surprised by how indecisive I am?”

“I think ‘entire world’ is a bit optimistic. Entire Britain, maybe,” Ron says. Harry groans again, and buries his face in a pillow. Someone pats his hair.

“Why does everything have to be so complicated?” he mumbles into it. The hand pats him some more. 

“It really only is if you care about what the rest of Britain think,” Hermione says. Ron laughs, but Harry reaches out to slap the closest part of her. When he does, she laughs too. 

“I hate you guys,” he says. 

It’s Ron who gives the back of his head a kiss and gleefully says, “No, you don’t.”

__

Ron is only over for the day, so Harry leaves the flat not long after their conversation, to give them some peace. Or, rather, some freedom to shag. When he tells them this, they both throw a pillow after him. 

Before he leaves, they both beg Ron to come home soon, and apparently things must be going well, because he agrees. Harry smiles fondly at the two of them as they kiss goodbye, before he holds Ron tight again. 

“I love you,” Ron calls to them from the door.

“Who?” Harry yells.

There’s a brief pause for dramatic effect, then, “Both of you.” As the door closes behind him, Hermione and Harry pout at each other. 

 

They settle in on the couch with chocolate and wine and a movie, and are sad because Ron has left them again. They’re still there when Hermione’s phone rings, and Draco’s name lights up on the screen. 

“Please don’t be calling about work,” she greets him, when she picks up. There’s silence for a brief moment, then:

“I am calling about work.” Harry can hear him clearly through the phone, but then again he is lying next to Hermione, and their heads are not very far apart. “But if you give me a good enough excuse, it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Ron came by, and then he left, and we are both very sad because we miss him,” Hermione says. Harry hears Draco laughing through the phone.

“Oh no,” he says. “I guess that’s a good enough excuse. Do you need anything during this great emergency?” 

Hermione doesn’t reply immediately, so Harry looks up and finds her looking at him. She’s never asked him before, when she’s invited Draco over, so her new knowledge must have changed something. 

“Hold on,” she says to Draco, then:

“Are you alright with him coming by during your emotional crisis about him?” 

Harry grimaces at her. She smiles a little, but stays silent, waiting for a reply. 

“I am not–“ Harry starts, but she sends him a pointed look, so instead he grunts, “Yes.”

“Chocolate?” she says then, to the phone and Draco. “Also wine?”

“On it,” Draco says, so Harry hides his face against Hermione’s side and ignores the rest of the conversation. 

 

Draco comes by with chocolate and wine and Chinese takeaway, and Harry could kiss him for it, so when Hermione goes to the bathroom, he does. Otherwise though, he stays by Hermione’s side and only touches Draco’s thighs with his feet, and he remains rather grumpy.

Draco must pick up on this, because when Hermione leaves for bed at around midnight, he crawls up Harry’s body and holds himself over it, nibbling Harry’s ear before he says, “Someone’s in a mood today.”

“Hm,” Harry grunts. Draco, weirdly, smiles as if this is sweet, and gives Harry a good long kiss. 

“What are we going to do about that then?” he asks. He bites his lip, and his expression is mischievous. Harry eyes him with suspicion until he starts kissing down Harry’s chest and stomach, and it becomes rather clear what he’s hinting at. Harry gasps in a breath and grabs onto Draco’s hair; this is a good idea.

“Yeah?” Draco asks. He looks up at Harry under his lashes; the wetness of his licked, kissed lips, and the sight of Harry’s hands in his hair and Draco submitting to it goes straight to Harry’s cock. Draco holds his hands over Harry’s trouser button, waiting for permission. Harry nods. 

Draco opens the button, then the zipper, and then he pulls down trousers and pants both. Harry already feels the deliriousness of naked desire overpowering him, and he throws his head back against the sofa; if he looks, he might come right there. 

“Okay?” Draco asks. Harry feels the inside of his thigh being kissed. He nods, but realises that maybe Draco isn’t looking at him.

“Yes,” he says. Then, for manners (and his desperation): “Please.” Draco smirks against his thigh. 

Then he gets to work. At first touch, it feels so good that Harry can’t stop himself from moaning loudly as his hips involuntarily chase it and thrusts. He feels Draco pulling away, as his hands come up to hold Harry’s hips down. 

“Sorry,” Harry says; his voice is hoarse. Draco just chuckles. Harry looks down at him, which is a mistake, because the way he looks could be enough to push Harry over the edge. He groans again, and throws his head back se he can’t see. Draco chuckles louder, this time. 

He dips back down, and this time Harry is more careful to be careful; also, Draco’s hands holding him down help. He realises that he likes this. The sex, obviously, but oh God how he likes that Draco is the one giving it to him; Draco’s curls that he is burying his hands in, and Draco’s smile around him. This notion is terrifying. 

So, as a serial maker of bad decisions, Harry reacts to this realisation by gasping and saying, “We’re just shagging, right?” 

Instantly, he winces internally. Even more, when Draco stops what he’s doing and pulls back to say “Hm?”

“I mean– I mean, this is just physical, yeah?” 

He feels Draco pull away further, but then a kiss is pressed to his lower stomach, and he dares look down. Draco is watching him, waiting for eye-contact. When he gets it he smiles softly and says,

“Sure.” He kisses Harry’s stomach again. “Vaguely friends with a lot of benefits, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, but he feels hesitant. He tries not to swallow or otherwise act weird. 

“You alright?” Draco asks him. He looks about to pull away, so Harry nudges him with his bent knee and says, “Better when you continue.”

Draco looks only partially convinced, but he does dive back down to press a kiss to Harry’s hip. When Harry reacts by chasing it, Draco’s expression turns satisfied, and he kisses downwards again. 

“Watch,” he demands, before he takes Harry in his mouth again, so Harry does. Draco looks at him through his eyelashes, and stops whenever Harry tries to break eye-contact, so Harry has to see the smugness in Draco’s eyes as he gets increasingly closer to orgasm. 

It makes him fond. It makes him want to press himself into Draco’s hands, even when they aren’t doing this. It makes him come with the realisation that he wanted Draco to answer his question by saying “No.”

__

They’re on that same couch, about a week later, in the early afternoon, when Harry sees something interesting in the newspaper. They’re alone; Hermione isn’t coming over till later. They’re on either end of the sofa, with their legs tangled up and meeting in the middle. 

“You can get your mark removed now,” Harry says. Draco looks up from where he’s been reading a book, so Harry holds up the paper to the page where he just read the news, and shows it to him. 

“Yeah, I heard,” Draco says. He goes back to the book. “I’m not going to do it.”

Harry considers this. Draco is just in a tee today, so the mark is on clear display, but it’s been ages since it was something Harry noticed in particular. 

“That’s weird,” he says, instead of asking why. He nudges Draco’s side with his foot. “You have changed your mind, right? You’re not still plotting to kill me?” 

It’s a joke; they can do that by now. When Draco looks back up, his smile is there enough to let Harry know that he’s mildly amused. 

“I was never going to kill you,” Draco says. He places the book on his stomach, with the pages resting against the fabric of his shirt. 

“Oh, right,” Harry says. “That was Voldy’s job.” This time Draco titters, and does that thing where his tongue pokes out through his teeth. 

“It’s not funny,” he says. 

“It’s a bit funny. Do you realise he didn’t have a nose?” 

Draco’s burst of laughter is loud enough to echo in the room; Harry grins as well. Draco leans over to hit the side of Harry’s face with the book, but it’s careful. 

“He tortured my family,” he says. 

“I know. What a dick.” 

Draco titters again, and rolls his eyes, but Harry sees something like fondness in his eyes. 

“You’re an idiot,” Draco says. Harry will take it. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. He nudges Draco’s side with his foot again, until Draco grabs his leg and holds it still. Harry smiles. 

“Why aren’t you going to do it, though?” he asks. Draco lets go if his leg and sinks bag against the sofa’s armrest, as he sighs. His smile falls off his face a little, but not enough to be worrisome. 

“Would you really want me to?” Draco asks. “Wouldn’t it be running away from what I did? Not owning up to the mistakes I made?”

“You were a child,” Harry says. Draco’s expression is solemn. 

“So were you,” he says. Harry doesn’t have much to say to that, so he just shrugs. Draco touches his leg again, and looks in thought for a while. 

“’Those who spit at history are doomed to repeat it’, right? Don’t really want to do that. Perhaps the mark is a reminder.”

“Hermione wouldn’t let you,” Harry says. Draco smiles a little, but otherwise remains thoughtful. He must really have thought about this, then. 

“Do you mind it? The mark?” Draco asks. “You’ve never really commented on it.”

Harry shrugs to the last part of that sentence, and sends Draco a soft smile about the first, willing him to understand. 

“No,” he says then. “It’s your past. I forgive you because of all of the new decisions you’ve made, not because the ones you made once are suddenly erased or forgotten.”

“You forgive me?” Draco asks. He sounds genuinely surprised. Harry nudges him again, and sends him a smile when he looks up and catches Harry’s eye. 

“Yeah,” he says. “But don’t get sappy about it.”

Draco bites his lip so as not to smile. Harry wants to kiss the bruised patch, but he doesn’t; he’s already getting dangerously close to affection.

__

Not long after, Ron comes home and is there to stay. It’s all very exiting, and they spend many hours just walking around and smiling, because finally they’re all together again. 

With an addition, now. The day Ron comes home, Hermione and Draco are sitting on the living room floor and doing some sort of work. Harry mostly tunes them out when they start discussing it so he doesn’t quite know what. 

All of this is interrupted by a lot of jumping and squealing and hugging when Ron walks in through the door. When Ron refuses Draco’s outstretched hand, and hugs him instead, Harry could kiss him. When Draco tells Hermione that he’ll take care of the work for the two of them, and why don’t she go hang out with her boyfriend, Harry could kiss him, too. So he does, as long as he’s allowed, until Draco pushes him away gently, saying, “Now I have to keep that promise.”

That night they all watch a movie together; Ron and Hermione on a mattress on the floor, and Harry and Draco sitting in the sofa behind them. During the whole movie Harry has his hand between Draco’s shoulder-blades, pressing so softly it’s barely there. 

It feels like home, he realises, with all of them here. Ron and Hermione, he already knew, but it’s a surprise to realise that Draco is a part of their little family now, too. Harry no longer has two best friends; he has three. 

When Draco turns his head so their noses touch, and smiles softly before he presses that same softness to Harry’s lips in a kiss, just because he feels like it, Harry realises that he’s probably in love with him.


	4. Not-sex with you

As those kinds of discoveries so often are, this one is bad timing. 

The next time Draco comes over they cook together, and Harry touches his neck, so Draco asks him to do it again once he’s pressing himself into Harry’s hands. He opens himself as Harry watches, and then he moves in to kiss the side of Harry’s mouth.

“Condom?” he asks. This is a fairly simple request, but since they’ve had sex a few times without it by now, Harry pays notice. 

“Has someone been scolded about safe sex?” he asks, and turns his head to kiss Draco’s lips. Draco smiles against it. 

“Not quite,” he says. “I did have unsafe sex with someone else though, and I haven’t gotten my test results back yet." He kisses Harry's jaw. "So we should probably use a condom until then, just to be sure.”

Harry’s brain locks down after it hears the words ‘sex with someone else’ out of Draco’s mouth. It feels like the floor is being pulled out from under him, and his heart skips a beat. It feels like being punched in the face, or having 10.000 tons of bricks dropped onto your chest. 

“What?” he says. His voice sounds wrong. Draco is too occupied with kissing down Harry’s jaw to notice. 

That’s the worst part; Draco clearly doesn’t think this is a big deal, which means that he doesn’t think of them as being exclusive (And they aren’t. Harry was the one to make sure Draco knew they were _just shagging_ for God’s sake). 

“Is that a weird thing to say while we’re making out?” Draco asks. He just sounds vaguely amused. “I just don’t want to potentially infect you with anything. Honesty, right?” He kisses Harry’s jaw again, but then seems to notice that Harry didn’t laugh, or even smile. He pulls away, and locks onto Harry’s eyes. 

“When?” Harry asks. This time he sees the recognition in Draco’s eyes when his voice still sounds strange. Draco sits back on his heels, still on Harry’s chest. 

“That’s not really any of your business,” he says. 

“Right. Sorry,” Harry says. He sits up, catching Draco’s face between his hands. Draco allows himself to be kissed, but doesn’t reciprocate. 

“We’re not exclusive,” he turns his head to say. Harry keeps pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. _Just kiss me, please, he thinks. Don’t make me think about this._

For some time, Draco does. He opens his mouth and allows Harry to take what he likes. Harry tries to be into it, he tries to let Draco’s lips on his speak and make him okay with what he’s just been told. He tries to tug at Draco’s hair, and invoke passion, but it doesn’t work. All he can think of is someone else’s hands doing this, and Draco letting them. All he can think about is this entire thing meaning less to Draco than it does to him. 

He pulls back. Still holding onto Draco’s jaw, he breathes into his neck. 

“I can’t,” he says. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Draco’s hand comes up to hold the nape of his neck, as Harry tries to gather his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling back to look at Draco. “I know I don’t have any right to, but I’m jealous.” 

Draco sits back on his heels again, to be able to watch him better. Harry’s hands fall from his face. “Like, really jealous,” he says. 

“You’re sending some very mixed signals here,” Draco says. He doesn’t sound angry, thank God; he just sounds confused. 

“I know.”

“Just three weeks ago you reminded me that we were ‘just shagging’.”

“I know.” Harry lies down, and puts his hand over his eyes. “Trust me, I know.” He feels more than sees Draco get off him, before he lies next to Harry instead, his head on the pillow too. 

“What do you want then, Harry?” he whispers. He puts his hand to the middle of Harry’s chest. Harry keeps his eyes closed, but puts his own hand down over it. 

“I don’t know,” he says. Draco taps his chest. Harry opens his eyes, and turns his face to look at him. He’s frowning, Draco is; His brows are knitted together and are creating a line between them. Harry reaches over to smooth it out, but then realises what he is doing, and lets his hand drop to the pillow between them; maybe he isn’t allowed to do this right now. Draco frowns even more. 

“I _don’t_ know,” Harry says again; he’s aware that he sounds defeated. Draco sighs. 

“All right,” he says. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats himself. “I–“

“Stop apologizing,” Draco interrupts him, and for the first time he sounds actually annoyed. Harry opens his mouth, wanting to apologize again, but closes it just in time. 

Draco’s smile is barely there, and it’s rather melancholy, but it does make him draw a line down Harry’s forehead with his index finger. 

“I think you should find out,” he says then. “What you want, I mean. Before we do anything else.”

Harry purses his lips; this is exactly the kind of situation he’s been worried about all along. Friends with benefits was always going to be a transition state; now is the time where they have to figure out to what. He nods, though. 

“Yeah.” 

Draco sighs again, and runs a hand through his hair. “Sleep on it, yeah?”

Harry nods. “Okay.” A beat of silence, then: “Will you stay? Tonight?” Thankfully, Draco smiles softly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

They get up and put on some clothes, because neither of them are really able to sleep naked. They’ve never done it like this before; gotten into bed with the sole intent of sleeping. Harry turns the light out with a single word, and then he lies down on his back, next to Draco. They both keep their hands to themselves. 

It’s terrible. It’s really bloody horrible, and Harry hates this distance between them, but he isn’t sure what to do for it to go away, just for tonight. 

In the end he says, “Giraffes right?” into the dark. When he turns his head slightly on the pillow, he sees Draco’s lips moving as if he is trying hard not to smile.

“Yeah?” His tone is exasperated but tinted with fondness; relief surges through Harry.

“Well,” he says. “When they want to know if a lady-giraffe is ovulating, right? They head-butt her in the stomach so she pees. And then they drink it. And they can, like, taste if she can get pregnant or not.”

Now Draco is smiling. He’s biting his lip, but it fights its way through anyway. When he turns his head, and their eyes meet, he giggles. 

“Goddamn you,” he says, but again it is fond. He turns to his side, but grabs Harry’s hand and pulls his arm with it, so Harry ends up spooning him. When he exhales against Draco’s neck, Harry realises how tense he was. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the skin there. Draco squeezes his hand.

“Go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Harry nods, and kisses Draco’s neck. Then he does.

__

When he wakes, Draco have rolled out of his grip, but he’s still in the bed and sleeping, breathing softly. The late-summer-sunlight shines in through blinds and falls on his face, illuminating a single line of it over the rest. Harry stays on the pillow and watches it; watches him. With it, he knows more than anything that he’s in love with Draco; that he wants to have him, for his own, and give him that soft, content expression he’s wearing right now as long as he’s allowed. 

Draco stirs on the pillow. When he seems awake, Harry reaches out to touch the sunlight on his face. Draco hums softly and smiles gently. 

“You look pretty in the morning,” Harry whispers. Draco’s smile gets bigger, so Harry touches the corners of it. 

“Go for a walk with me today?” he asks. Draco hums again.

“Alright,” he mumbles. Harry touches the place between his eyebrows where tension seeps in again, until it falls away in yet another soft smile. He kisses Draco’s forehead in thanks.

 

When they get up, Harry makes them both coffee and toast in the kitchen, and Draco leans against his shoulder with his morning tiredness. He really is like cat, pushing his nose against Harry’s jaw. Harry touches him between his shoulder-blades, like usual. 

“This is your move,” Draco tells him softly, when he does. Harry supposes it is.

 

Harry packs them a thermos of the coffee and two sandwiches. Draco doesn’t have his broom with him, so instead he gets behind Harry on his, and they fly over the city and the following countryside illuminated by the early morning light. Draco’s hands press into Harry’s stomach, where he is holding onto him.

He lands them near a path through a patch of forest, and they get off. In the beginning Harry’s hand is at the low of Draco’s back, but then the road becomes twisted and narrow, so Draco walks a few steps ahead of him.

“What is this place?” he asks. He’s walking upwards, where the path leads them to the top of a small hill. The light on his back is patterned by the leaves above and around them.

“This is the place I used to go,” Harry says. “Right after the war. When everything was … a lot worse.”

Draco turns around to watch him, and waits until Harry is by his side and past him, before he walks on. “I didn’t know everything was ‘a lot worse’,” he says. 

Harry shrugs, because what can he really say? That it was possibly the worst experience of his life, those three months before he realised that he could talk to people, and they’d talk back; that they all had similar stories now.

They make it up to the top of the hill, and the forest opens into an open landscape. When he sees the bench, Harry recognises it easily. It is situated in the high field, where you can see the entire stretch of land before the city, and then the clump of it, if the weather is good. It is today. 

“That’s where I used to sit,” Harry says, pointing at it. Draco watches him for a moment. Then he makes towards it. 

They sit down on it, both watching the city. Harry draws his legs up before himself, and puts his arms around his knees. 

“What I– I guess what I’m trying to say,” Harry says, “with all of this, is that, I’m still not entirely alright. And I’m pretty difficult at times. I have no idea what I want to do with my life, either. I didn’t really expect to still have it, after the war ended.”

Draco has watched the sky through it all, but at that he turns his head and watches Harry again. He doesn’t protest though, which Harry appreciates. The good thing about Draco is that he understands in a different way; he doesn’t get offended or sad when it becomes clear that Harry has darkness within him.

Perhaps because he has, too, Harry thinks, because then he says, “I understand.”

“I know,” Harry says. He means it; he really does know, now. Draco rests his head on the back of Harry’s shoulder. 

“It’s complicated though,” Harry says. They’d be; the two of them together would be. They’re similar, but they’re also so very different. And that’s not even including the thoughts of everyone else who’d feel their opinion on the matter was important. 

Draco just shrugs. For a long time they sit in silence. Draco puts his hand up to rest on the inner side of Harry’s elbow, pushing his fingers into the soft skin he finds there. 

“I just need you to be sure,” he says, eventually. It’s said like the punctuation mark to a long thought; it’s said like this is all that’s important, all that matters. “The rest of it, that’s fine. For now. Just, before you make a choice, be sure you’ll be able to stick with it.”

Harry doesn’t tell him that he’s never been surer of anything else in his life. Well, except maybe that Voldemort should die, but that one is hard to beat. Instead he kisses Draco’s temple and says, “I promise.”

“Good,” Draco says. They share some more comfortable silence, but then he squeezes Harry’s arm and rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder to watch him. “Take me home?”

 

Harry does. Once inside he makes them tea, and Draco discovers that they’re alone. When the tea is done, he grabs Harry’s hands and leads them into Harry’s bedroom. In there, he gestures for Harry to lie on the bed, which he does. 

Draco then crawls on top of him. He covers Harry with all of his body, and when Harry’s hands come up to touch his hips, Draco pushes Harry’s hair out of his face and rubs their noses together.

“So,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

“Hm.” That’s all Harry says, so Draco nudges his chin with his nose, in request for a proper reply. 

“I like you?” Harry says. Draco smiles.

“You say that like it’s a question. Are you affirming with me?”

“No,” Harry says. “I like you.” He smiles softly, and kisses the corner of Draco’s mouth. “I like you a lot.” Draco smiles too, at that. 

“Good,” he says. “I like you, too.” 

Harry can’t stop his grimace, as he looks past Draco’s head to the ceiling; the words remind him that Draco slept with someone else; reminds him that maybe their level of affection for one another is widely different.

Draco sees, of course. He grabs onto Harry’s chin, and guides his head down so their eyes meet. 

“You just had a thought,” he says. “What was it?”

Harry grimaces again. This time it’s intended and means ‘I’m not sure I should say that.’ Draco kisses his temple and pulls back with a determined look. 

“Tell me,” he says.

“It’s just. You slept with someone else. I’m not judging, it just makes me think that maybe this means more to me than it does to you?” He watches with anticipation for what Draco’s reaction will be. For now he just frowns. 

“I don’t just mean ‘like’,” Harry continues. It’s more vulnerable, and more near the truth than anything else he’s said up until now.

“Harry, it was just sex,” Draco says. “With that other guy.”

“And this isn’t?”

Draco smiles, like it’s amusing in a sad way. “No,” he says. “It never was. Never could be, not with our history, not really.” 

Harry studies his expression, so Draco rubs their noses together again until he smiles. 

“I don’t just mean ‘like’ either,” he says.

“You don’t?” Harry asks. He can’t keep the smile out of his voice. Draco rolls his eyes, but they are still full of affection. 

“Of course not,” he says. “God, you are daft.” 

Then he kisses him. It’s long and deep, and it makes Harry able to breathe again because it tastes like affection.

“If I tell you something,” Draco mumbles into his cheek when he pulls back, “do you promise to tell me something, too?”  
“Okay?”

“I’m in love with you.”

There it is again, that feeling of the rug being pulled out from under your feet, and the moment where you don’t know if you’ll fall or be caught, only this time it feels like he falls and is caught once he hits the ground, and they can be on it together. He can barely feel his own grin, so large is it. Draco chuckles at him.

“Hm?” he says, and kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Do you have something to tell me as well?”

“Git,” Harry mumbles. Draco laughs. Then: “I’m in love with you, too.” Draco beams and nuzzles into him like he is pleased.

“I know,” he says, but Harry kisses him anyway. Draco hums into it, and it gets deeper when Harry presses his fingertips into his hips.

“Is it still complicated?” Draco asks into Harry’s skin when he pulls back a little.

“I mean, it probably will be,” Harry says. “We are complicated people. But that’s like the ‘putting in effort to make this work part’.”

“You’re talking about dating?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “That could be a simple decision. We could make it one. I like sex with you and I like not-sex with you.”

Draco chuckles. “What’s not-sex with me?” he asks. Harry kisses his cheek. 

“You know, hanging out. Do you want to date me?”

“Do you want to date me?” Draco asks, but his tone is cheerful; he’s teasing. 

“Don’t make me do all the work,” Harry complains. In fact, he knows he’s done almost none of it; thank God for Slytherins getting what they want. Draco laughs, so Harry runs his hands up his back. Draco pushes into him. 

“Yes,” he says then. He’s saying it to Harry’s cheek, and he’s smiling. “I do want to date you.”

“Good. I want to date you, too.”

“Good.” Harry lifts his head to watch Draco’s face. Draco looks barely able to conceal his smile, so Harry kisses him to let it free. They chuckle into each other’s mouths. 

“Good talk,” Draco says. Harry chuckles and pulls back again, so they can watch each other. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Good meeting.”

Draco laughs. “Great meeting.” 

Harry leans up to kiss him. When Draco’s hands come up to cup his face, and he allows Harry’s legs to snake around his hips, Harry decides he could get used to this. Maybe it’s as simple as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you. Yeah, you. Thank you for reading this far! Tell me what you thought in the comments?


End file.
